


The King of Wishful Thinking

by totilott



Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [23]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: Coffee Shops, Conflict, M/M, Reunions, can you tell I don't know how to tag this, good thing nothing bad ever happens to them, the dibneys are so much in love and i refuse to remain silent on this matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22051180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totilott/pseuds/totilott
Summary: Ted attempts to get in touch with Booster, who's out to meet an old friend.
Relationships: Michael Carter/Ted Kord, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Ralph Dibny/Sue Dibny
Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1282328
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	The King of Wishful Thinking

It’s a given, of course. You don’t get into this line of work if your head works like it’s supposed to. You don’t put on brightly colored spandex and run around in the streets fighting crime if you’re all there in the brain department. Ted knows that.

He sniffs, gripping the trapeze handle with both hands, mentally calculating the trajectory from the Bug’s open latch to the window ledge ahead.

There's something wrong with all of them, himself included.

But he also knows that at some point he did get a little bit crazier.

He runs, one-two-three steps, diving low to lessen the jerk as he feels his full body weight rest from his fingers, his wrists, noting how his joints protest. It's fine. He can hold, hold for the full swing as he imagines that outside perspective of himself, the blue streak moving along the curve of the trapeze line, forward and up, up, until he can feel himself begin to subtly slow. That’s when he lets go, tucking in, trusting his momentum, noiselessly gliding through the air until his toes makes contact with the ledge and he straightens, arms up to brace for the impact against the wall.

The jolt of impact travels up his ankles and knees, making him wince.

 _Out of practice,_ he tells himself, trying not to acknowledge that countless midnight binges come with their own set of consequences. _You either have to lose the weight or get stronger, buddy_. Landing on a ledge like this would be a shit place for his knee to suddenly give out. What a nice little smear he would make on the asphalt fourteen stories below.

The wind whistles around his ears, tugging at his costume, and he shimmies along the edge, his back to the stone facade.

He didn’t use to be crazy. Not more than the average hero in tights. But something changed when he joined the League, over time he got... Maybe a little more impulsive, a little more excited about what those kinds of impulses could lead to.

Or -- Well.

He met Booster, that’s what happened. He met Booster and got a whole lot stupider. Happier, too, though that seems ancient history now.

He finds the closed window, waving a hand to shoo the pigeons away, and kneels to scan the spacious apartment within for signs of life. No. Lights are off. All quiet.

In any case, doing this isn’t the result of being crazy. It’s the result of doing a massive amount of thinking, actually. This is a _plan,_ not an impulse.

He feels for the little pouch hanging from his belt. Haven’t used it for a while, but he hasn’t forgotten. He still knows how to pick open a window. He ponders, not for the first time, what a good burglar he’d be if he had wound up on the other side of the law.

This is a plan. A good plan. He’s thought this _through._

At least that what he tells himself as he begins the process of breaking into Booster’s apartment.

* * *

_“...And I’m turning to the horoscope and looking for the funnies...”_

The soft music is almost drowned out by the gentle din of people talking in the cafe, a cross section of the populace of New York, young and old, hip and old-fashioned, little constellations of friends and colleagues and families, except for the ones quietly breathing in the smell of their hot drinks in solitude. Booster returns to the table with a tiny bag of brown sugar.

“Well, you’ve certainly changed since I last saw you.”

Booster frowns at Ralph as he sits down. Seems all his old friends can’t wait to tell him how lousy he’s looking these days. Getting skinnier, losing muscle definition, and a little more hair coming out every time he combs. Down 8.7 percent in muscle mass -- hell, probably even more now. “In what way?” he asks, brightly, though he dreads the answer.

Ralph smirks, gesturing at Booster’s coffee. “Double espresso? I remember you more as a cocoa kind of guy.”

“Oh.” Booster exhales, tearing open the packet of sugar with restless hands, dumping it all in. “I used to drink coffee before, too, you know. Monitor duty, night missions, that kind of stuff.” Just for the caffeine. Just to keep awake. Now, too. He feels sleepy almost 24-7 these days, except when it's time to sleep, but he doesn’t feel like telling Ralph that. He’s probably just coming down with a cold or something. Stress from work. “Guess I... just grew up.”

“Huh.” Ralph sits back, his gray turtleneck making him seem even slimmer, even lankier, as he sips his caramel macchiato with a content sigh.

_“...As I’m listening to the bells of the cathedral... I am thinking of your voice...”_

“How does it feel being back in the the old US of A?” Booster asks, offering a tired smile. Somewhere behind him a woman shrieks with laughter.

“You know what I’ve missed?” There’s a mischievous glint in Ralph’s eyes. “Three musketeers.”

Booster stares at him. “What, like the story?”

“No, like the chocolate bar. And Snickers and Butterfingers and Twix. I’ve missed the taste of American bars _so_ much.” He curls his long fingers around his mug and chuckles. “Sue thinks I’m crazy. She tells me ‘You can go down to the corner store and get real Swiss chocolate, you know' -- and those aren’t cheap, by the way, not even in France -- ‘and you want the trash that passes for chocolate at home?’”

Booster chuckles.

“But I do, when that trash is all I’ve ever known, I--” Ralph shrugs. “I guess I miss the trash.”

Even though he told himself he would wait, be patient, lie in wait for the perfect moment, Booster’s restless mind can’t hold back any longer. “You could move back, you know.”

“Oh no, Sue isn’t --”

“You’re telling me she doesn’t miss shopping in New York? Or, or --” Booster is racking his brain, trying to think of examples. “Attending opera at the Met?”

Ralph grins and gives him a look. “Booster. We live in _Paris.”_ He takes a sip. “She gets to call fashions passé three months before they even reach the US. Trust me, she’s ecstatic.”

A wave of annoyance rolls in Booster’s chest. “And your opinion doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

There’s a slight pause as Ralph studies him, a subtle squint before he blinks and shrugs. “I like the food there. I like the people.”

“Not the chocolate, though,” Booster interjects with a desperate grin, feeling this conversation isn’t going where he wanted.

“Sure, I’ll just leave my wife behind for a Mars bar.” Ralph makes a face. “That’s what I’ll do.”

“We could get you French chefs here,” Booster pleads, his voice low. “We could import produce overnight, trust me, Claire has connections everywhere. You’d only need to say the word and --”

“Not this again,” Ralph scrunches his nose. “I knew this was where you were headed.”

“I need good people, Ralph.” Booster tries to turn on his most charming smile, his Claire smile, his Max smile, but it feels artificial on his face. “You could demand just about anything, we’ve got a slew of sponsors just dying to spend money on us. All we need is to make them look good and they’re happy.”

“I thought you _had_ good people, Booster.” Ralph sighs. "That's what all the newspapers keep telling me, anyway."

“Sure,” Booster grins, feeling a tight knot in his chest. “Of course. They’re a real stand-up bunch, trust them with my life.” He has always been a good liar. Not like Ted. “But now that we’re in business I can -- And we’re doing _super good,_ by the way, absolutely terrific -- I can tell we’re a little, you know. Unbalanced.”

Ralph studies him. “Unbalanced how?”

“Well, there’s -- We’ve got a lot of mind powers, you know. A ton of ‘em, and...” He interlaces his fingers, then takes them apart. “And we could do with some more practical powers too, in the mix.” How does Claire do this? How does she make people excited about something they’d never consider before? “We could really use someone like you.”

“Heck, if you just need someone _like_ me you can ask Plas, I don't think he's busy right now,” Ralph smirks.

“No, what I mean is --” Booster can’t keep up the grinning salesmanship anymore. His face is aching. He sighs. _“I_ want _you_ on the team. I really do.”

“I’m already on a team, Booster, you know that,” Ralph tells him, searching his face. “Why would you want me?”

“Because -- Because --” Booster wipes his face with a restless hand and presses his eyes closed for a moment. “I, I can't fucking handle that team on my own anymore.” _Good going, Booster-boy._ He looks at Ralph, certain the misery is evident on his face. He's too exhausted to fake it. “They all hate me, you know.”

“I’m sure they don’t hate you.”

Booster offers him a desperate grin. “Oh, they do, Ralph. They barely tolerate me being in the same room.” The grin drains from his face. “They can’t stand each other either. Every second I spend with them, trying to stop them from murdering each other, it’s like I age ten years. I don’t know what to do.”

Ralph stares at him in disbelief. “And your want me to join this darling little crew?”

“I just need someone there to back me up once in a while, you know?” Booster mopes. “Or hell, someone who’s willing to talk to me in the first place.”

“I don’t know much about those new guys you’ve brought in,” Ralph tells him softly with a frown. “But I've worked with Cynthia, you know. I refuse to believe _she’s_ like that.”

Booster sighs deeply. “Okay, sure, Cynthia’s a sweetheart.” He taps his fingers against his coffee. “She’s going through a lot right now, though.”

“Mm,” Ralph concedes, sipping his macchiato.

“Not that I have any idea how to deal with that,” Booster shrugs, glancing out the window. “Short of throwing her off the team, and I can't do that."

"But you have one friendly face on your team, then." Ralph offers him a sympathetic smile.

"And I guess Maxi-Man and Echo are pretty decent people too," Booster mutters, looking into the pitch black of his coffee. "Inexperienced and a little erratic, but decent.”

“Like you,” Ralph smirks, then chuckles at the face Booster gives him.

“I’ve been getting along a little better with Vapor too, I guess.” Booster continues. “I get the feeling she’s just a little overwhelmed, like she’s... a little unsure of her place, maybe. Maybe that’s it.”

_Like me._

“If I didn’t know any better,” Ralph interjects. “I’d think you get along with a lot of your team.”

“No, I--” Booster sinks deeper into his chair. “I don’t know. It’s... It’s so different. Everything is so different.”

“From what?”

Booster looks up at him, frowning. “You know what.”

* * *

There’s a muffled click as Ted slides the bolt out of its groove. A subtle give in the window frame. He hooks a small wire loop into the crack, gives it a tug and...

Voila.

The window swings open.

Good to get in from the cold wind, anyway. He casts another glance towards the Bug, the mirror camouflage looking a little obvious this close up, but still good enough that people on the streets won’t notice that the Blue Beetle’s craft is hovering near the upper floors of the Ophelia Gardens building.

Ophelia Gardens. That’s where our working class hero Booster Gold decides to live when he’s out of the League Embassy, is it? For someone so personally offended at the notion of the Kord family fortune he certainly strives to live in luxury.

Hypocrite. 

Ted makes a face, slipping inside the dim room within. The gall of Booster to say that their backgrounds make them _too different_. Like their respective parents’ incomes was the real clincher, not how the grew up centuries apart. You'd think that was a more decisive difference. Didn’t have any problems relating to each other before money became an issue, did they? Didn’t have any problems (well, not _too_ many problems) going to bed together before the resort money became a sore subject.

It's a relief that it's over, isn't it? No need for Ted to examine those strange, dark new corners of himself when he and Booster aren't even talking. Whatever strange blip that was, he can bury it again. He's come to the reassuring conclusion Booster didn't turn over some horrible switch in him, making him drool over every buff, beautiful man in his vicinity (which this kind of profession admittedly has its fair share of). Booster was his one exception, and now that exception isn't an option anymore, everything's back to normal.

Isn't it?

_Focus, Ted. You have a plan._

Yeah, well, that was it. Break into Booster’s apartment, not giving him the option of refusing him at the door, not suffering the humiliation of asking in the lobby and be told “Sorry, Mr. Gold isn’t seeing any visitors”. Or worse, be graciously granted an audience with the successful and oh-so-busy traitor, come up here, metaphorical cap in hand, already on the defensive.

No. He's got more initiative than that. His plan. Just be -- Be the one in control. The one in charge of the meeting. That'll make this feel less vulnerable, just be the one who says "I am here. I have decided to be here, and I don't care whether or not you want me to be here". Completely in control.

So he can tell Booster Scott isn’t dead. Simple.

Hell, it’s practically doing him a favor. Imagine if Booster turned him away in the lobby without even seeing him, had the staff throw him out. Then he'd never know their friend was back from the dead. That would be terrible. He's just making sure Booster can't make a mistake like that. It's pretty selfless, actually, breaking in, waiting until he shows up.

That’s the plan. Be in control. Tell him.

Simple.

Ted pushes his goggles up, rubbing his eye.

Why the hell did he want to do this again?

* * *

Every time the door opens to the street outside, an ice-cold gale enters the café, making the napkins flutter on the tables and on the counter.

“So, um,” Booster crosses his arms, resting his elbows on the table. “Everything going good with you guys, then? Your team?” Justice League Europe. Their little off-shoot. With team members who probably enjoy working with each other, who trust each other, enjoy each other’s company. How does that feel again?

Ralph shrugs, breathing in deep the intermingling smells of coffees and cocoas and teas with a smile. “Sure.”

“And the -- the New York chapter?” Booster glances up at him, before quickly looking down at his cup, frowning. “Have you heard anything?”

Ralph giggles in disbelief. “You invite me out for coffee the day after I return from Paris to ask how the League is doing a few blocks over?”

“Yeah, okay,” Booster makes a face, frowning. “I see your point.”

“Was your departure really as dramatic as all that?” Ralph’s voice is gentle. He leans in. “You’ve never struck me as the kind who burns bridges.”

“Ralph, I burned bridges with an entire century,” Booster exclaims miserably. “You have no idea.”

The silence is filled by the din of the other café patrons -- cups clinking against tabletops, talking, laughing, murmuring. A soft baritone behind them hums along to the music; _"...You build me up and tell me lies, you hold my hand, say 'Close your eyes'...."_

“So you haven’t been speaking with the League at all?” Ralph asks eventually, studying him.

“Not since the funeral.” Booster rubs his eyes. “I don’t need another punch to the face right now.”

“Beetle crossed a line,” Ralph tells him, a frown tensing his forehead. “That isn’t something you _do_ at a funeral. I would have told him, I would have told _you_ if you both hadn’t disappeared right after.”

“Yeah, well, I gave him ample reason to,” Booster mutters, rubbing his cheek where the punch landed, wanting it to still sting, but of course it doesn’t. “If there was a line I was already stepping over it, doing my recruitment routine right after Scott --”

“But I told you,” Ralph interjects insistently.

“I know,” Booster sighs, glancing out the window again, resting his chin in his hand. “We did what we did. It’s done.”

“There’s every possibility they don’t hate you, you know,” Ralph tells him softly. “I’m heading to the Embassy later. Come with me. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled, I’m sure they --”

“Forget it,” Booster laughs thinly, a little panicked. At the thought of Ted, at the thought of Max. “The way I left, I figure I give them a few years.”

The things they could call him. Selfish. Glory-hound. Callous. A deserter. They’d be right, too.

Maybe Ted’s even told them, in a fit of anger. Told them about Booster’s sordid past, how he’s a crook and a has-been, what a bad person he is deep inside. Maybe all his secrets have been laid out, maybe none of them will ever look at him the same ever again.

A few years. Hell, probably more. A decade or so, and _then_ he can show up, the forsaken son who foolishly thought he’d make it big on his own.

“Well, if you won’t come with me,” Ralph tells him, leaning his elbows on the table. “I can ask, you know. Prod them a bit and figure out how they feel about everything.”

Booster flinches. “Don’t you dare,” he chuckles nervously. Like he’d want to know the kinds of things they’ve been saying about him. Or what they'll say when they find out he was trying to recruit one of their own. “You know, I’d...” He swallows. “I’d prefer if you don’t tell them we’ve met at all.”

Ralph makes a face. “Booster, come on.”

It’s a knot inside him. Everything that hurts, all bundled together, impossible to figure out. He tugs on one problem it only brings another to the surface. And still that knot of hurt feels like it's the only thing keeping him together. “Please.”

Ralph looks at him, the frustration evident on his face. He sighs. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“But I’m telling Sue if she asks.” Ralph sits back, defeated. “I’m not going to make my wife suspicious because I wanted to meet a friend for coffee.”

* * *

There’s an unpleasant staleness to the air. Ted considers for a moment to leave the window open, get some fresh air into Booster’s apartment, but he tells himself not to be ridiculous. What a good burglar he’d be. Might as well do the dishes and tidy up while he’s at it.

He squints at the room he’s in. Booster’s bathroom, like it wasn’t evident from the mountain of personal beauty products. Such a familiar sight it makes something ache in him. He wonders idly what Booster really looks like, without moisturizing skin creams and vitamin hair oils and body wax and the occasional touch of mascara.

Maybe he’s ugly. Maybe he’s butt ugly underneath it all. Completely hideous.

Ted makes a face. _Yeah right._ Would make him feel better if it was true, though.

He looks at the sea of small containers and frowns at the chaos. Booster has never been a tidy guy, but at the Embassy he did enjoy keeping his products in order, categorized, easy to look through when he needed _this_ particular under-eye cream or _that_ particular hairspray.

Here, they’re just haphazardly shoved together, overflowing on the side of the sink. Some of the containers are even missing their lids, the contents congealed and dry within. Not like him at all.

 _What, so you’re gonna analyze Booster by the contents of his bathroom now, Ted?_ He snorts. So Booster’s been busy with his new team. He knows that already, every mission of theirs praised in the newspapers, with professional photographs, interviews with the grateful rescuees, blow-by-blow analyses of their tactical prowess, everyone fawning over The Conglomerate, the greatest thing since sliced bread.

The Justice League is old news in comparison, only worth mentioning when the pundits need a punching bag.

And when the Conglomerate hasn’t had one of their massively successful missions in a while, they do promotional appearances, in-depth interviews, advertisements for their sponsors. Everywhere he turns he sees Booster, airbrushed, grinning, beautiful. He can’t enter a shop or a bar without hearing his voice on the radio, on the TV. The fact that his team has a notable amount of female heroes hasn't gone unnoticed by the media either. The way they tell it, it sounds like Booster is surrounded by his own little fawning harem. 

If only they knew. Reporters speculating about Booster's relationships with the women on his team, when the men might very well have been handpicked according to his tastes as well. Maybe that's why Booster doesn't have the time to put his beauty products in order; Everyday an orgy at the Conglomerate HQ. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that Booster gets to move on, forget Ted (When was the last time _he_ was in the media spotlight, except for the occasional gossip mag item about how much weight he’s put on?), find success at every turn, while Ted has to see and hear and think about him every day. Morning shows analyzing every glance he sends his team mates, speculating about who he spends his nights with, forcing Ted to ponder it too.

He wipes his face.

_Snap out of it. You’re supposed to get ready to talk to him._

It won’t do surprising him in the bathroom when he wanders in to take a piss. _Hey, dude. Just came to tell you Mister Miracle isn’t dead after all. Don't forget to wash your hands._

Ted sighs, pushing open the door into the dark corridor.

* * *

Booster blinks slowly, eyes fixed on his empty coffee cup, held in both hands on the table. Frowning, feeling every anxious, horrible feeling move around in him, stirred up by even referring to the Justice League. Claire has learned never to mention them near Booster. They’re not in the news so much anymore, the sponsors have made sure The Conglomerate is dominating the airwaves.

He’s been so focused on the team, keeping Praxis and Reverb from killing each other, starting to break through to Vapor, protecting Cynthia. He’s been trying to keep himself busy, so busy he thought for a moment he was starting to forget.

But he can’t.

He looks up at Ralph, who’s idly watching the people walking past outside. “Do you and Sue ever fight about money?”

Ralph coughs, giving him a look. “Booster. That’s a pretty personal question.”

“I know, I didn’t mean it like --” Booster pulls a restless hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“What brought that on?”

“No, it's -- I mean, you --” Booster licks his lips, squirming in his seat. “I guess you’ve always struck me as a, a, a kinda working-class kinda guy.”

Ralph smirks, raising his eyebrows for a moment in subtle agreement.

“And Sue, well, she...” He pulls his fingers through his hair again. “She’s, you know --”

“Absolutely loaded?” Ralph mutters, looking out the window. “Family fortune, estate. _Filthy_ rich.” He gives Booster a wink. “You looking for tips to bag someone like that? Get your finances sorted out?”

“No,” Booster replies, too quickly, and tries to soften it with a thin laugh. “I mean -- Doesn’t it --” Booster’s an expert in speaking without thinking, but this gotta be some sort of record. Not even he knows what on earth he’s trying to say. “How does that work?”

“Pretty well, I thought.” Ralph smiles and instinctively touches the dark blue silicone ring on his finger.

“I mean -- I’m sorry,” Booster stutters. “I just... That’s gotta make for some pretty big differences, right? You practically come from different planets.”

“I can’t tell if it’s me or Sue you’re calling a class traitor here,” Ralph smirks.

“I’m just saying, you and Sue, you gotta have some pretty different perspectives on things.” Booster exhales through his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. “I assume. I mean, I know you’re crazy about each other, but -- She must have had, like, opportunities you never had. A kind of security that you and me can’t imagine. I mean -- twenty bucks to her can’t be what twenty bucks are to you.” He looks up, bathing in the shame of being this unhinged, this rude. “Right?”

Ralph pauses, studying him. Booster feels uncomfortable in his own skin, in his sweater and jeans.

_"...I don't know what else to do, I'm still in love with you..."_

“Sure,” Ralph concedes. “Sue and I have different perspectives on a lot of things, I suppose.” He takes a sip, taking his time. “But that’s just as much due to... Me growing up in Nebraska, or having powers, or her work in the fashion industry, or, well, being a woman.” He nods at Booster. “Do you get it? We’re different people. I don’t think I’d want to marry a female clone of myself.” He makes a face. “God, what would _that_ look like?”

Booster squirms, unsatisfied. “But doesn’t it ever feel, you know, _unfair?_ How hard you’ve worked to get to where you are, while she --”

“You’re assuming hell of a lot about my wife,” Ralph interjects a little sharply, making Booster jolt upright in his seat. “Especially since I get the feeling you’re not really talking about Sue at all.”

Booster swallows. “You’re right. You’re right, Ralph. I’m -- I’m really sorry.” He pulls both hands through his hair, sighing so deeply it's almost a groan. What a mess he is. “I’m sorry. That was completely uncalled for.”

“I’m getting a little tired of your hidden agendas today, Booster,” Ralph tells him softly. “So why don’t you just tell me what’s on your mind?”

Booster clears his throat, not meeting Ralph’s eyes. “You’re right, I -- Look.” What a mess, what a mess. “Thing is, okay, I was seeing this, this girl, and... We really hit it off, and I didn’t think that --” He leans miserably over the table, his arms folded, resting his chin on his forearms. “I thought it didn’t matter, you know? That her family was loaded and that she came from that -- that kind of background.”

Ralph makes a polite noise of interest. “And then what happened?”

“Well we, we hit a rough patch and there was...” _A lot. A whole lot._ “Some money involved, and suddenly it became so clear how -- how _different_ we viewed the whole thing.” Booster scrunches his nose, uncertain how much of the whole fiasco reached the Europe division. Not much gossip between the teams, as far as he knows. “Like she couldn’t see the problem at all. She was even _annoyed_ with how much it -- it worried me. But it was a lot of money and a lot of consequences. But not, not to her, apparently. Not to her.”

Booster breathes deeply through his nose, his torso resting against the table. He feels shaky, raw. He's never had anyone to speak to about this, not even in code. Months of carrying everything around inside himself.

“And you feel her reaction was because of her fortune? Her background?” Ralph asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Booster mutters, not looking up. “But we always agreed on just about everything else, you know? Things only started falling apart once money got involved.”

“I get the feeling that’s pretty common,” Ralph muses. When Booster doesn’t answer he takes a sip and leans over the table and studies him for a moment.

_"...I want to take your truth and hold it in my hand, maybe then I'll understand..."_

Ralph sighs, looking out the window at the wind-swept street outside. “When Sue and I first got married, you know, I got a little... _weird._ About money.”

Booster looks up at him, confused.

“Like I had this big idea about being the, you know. Breadwinner.” Ralph snorts. “I was so set on Sue and me being completely independent of the Dearbon fortune. I didn’t even want her to write fashion editorials.”

“You made Sue quit work?”

Ralph laughs. “I tried, but she chewed me out harder than I’ve ever --” He waves his hand dismissively. “And, well, even with her paycheck from the magazine, we could barely keep our heads above the water. It’s not like I was bringing in cash battling Captain Boomerang. She was the one with the real job, while I was arguing to keep us in poverty.” He shrugs. “So in the end --”

“You sold out,” Booster mutters, surprised at his own voice.

“I realized it wasn’t my call to make.” Ralph tilts his head, unafraid to meet Booster’s gaze. “She had a fortune, she wanted to keep me in business, she wanted to donate to charities, she wanted to keep putting it to good use. It’s her money.”

“But she never earned it, not the family fortune,” Booster interjects. “She just... lucked out. _You_ lucked out.”

“It’s not like I’m proud of it,” Ralph sighs. “But truth be told, I couldn't have stuck in the hero business without the Dearbon money. It doesn’t make for solvency, running around in tights. It’s not a steady income, you know that.” He nods at Booster. “I’ve seen you, your team. You’ve got all those sponsorships. That’s how _you_ stay in business.”

Booster looks away, frowning.

“The League’s got Max bankrolling them.” Ralph shrugs. “There isn’t a perfect system in this business. We’re all just trying to make do, however we can. Stay in reasonable shape, keep our equipment running, mend our costumes when they’re torn.” 

“Yeah, I see your point,” Booster mutters, sitting up.

“I can’t hold it against Sue that she was born into money,” Ralph continues with a gentle smile. “Especially not when she’s supported me with it like she has. And the way I look at it, I think maybe... Maybe it’s _harder,_ becoming a decent person when you grow up with that kind of privilege.”

Booster exhales, looking down at his hands.

There’s a glint of happiness in Ralph’s eyes. “So that must say something about Sue, you know? That she managed to become so kind and selfless and funny despite all that.”

Booster nods silently.

“Just like it must say something about Ted that he managed it too.”

“Yes,” Booster mutters, before he realizes and looks up, wide-eyed. “How did you know?” A cold splash of water in his veins. “I didn't -- How did you know I was talking about Ted?”

Ralph squints mischievously at him. “Please, Booster. You’re trying to be coy and secretive around the world's greatest detective?”

“I thought I was --” Booster swallows, his heart beating fast against his chest wall. “I thought I was being careful.”

“You abruptly quitting the League and suddenly nursing a broken heart at the same time was a pretty big giveaway.” Ralph reaches across the table, gently patting his arm. “And the only family fortunes in the League are the Kords and the Lords.” He sits back, making a face. “Huh, they rhyme. Anyway, I know you borrowed money from Max years ago, and you said things only turned sour once money entered the picture, so that didn’t fit with this recent falling out.”

Booster clears his throat, a little amazed.

“Besides, you tend to hold your breath for just the tiniest moment every time Beetle’s mentioned.” Ralph winks at him.

“Bravo,” Booster concedes, embarrassed. “So you’re not...?”

Ralph looks at him, one eyebrow raised.

Booster folds his hands on the table, looking down at them. “I know not everyone’s comfortable. In this age, you know. About guys and guys.”

Ralph grins, exhaling softly. “Again, I’ve been living in _Paris._ We’ve even got a gay bar the next building over.”

Booster chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You get many offers?”

“Hardly. Dmitri’s _very_ popular though. Even when he lets them know he’s happily married.” Ralph squints at the window. “I think it’s the beard.”

“Mm,” Booster concedes, not looking up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ralph tilts his head, looking at him. “Without having to change the details to keep me off the trail?”

“There’s not much more to say,” Booster sighs. “There was the money, and the resort thing, and the cleaning duty. And it all just -- it got too complicated. Too many things all locked up together.” He shrugs. “And at this point I’ve become very good at burning bridges, you know. I don’t just burn them, I blow them up first. The shores too.” He offers Ralph a tired smile. “There’s no going back even if I wanted to.”

“But you do want to?”

“No.” Booster swallows. “No. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

Nothing matters anymore.

Ralph studies him, frowning. “Come with me to the Embassy.”

“Now who’s got agendas?” Booster laughs. “I’m not coming with you, Ralph. In fact I, I got a meeting with Claire’s people in a little while.” He gets to his feet. “I gotta go. I’m... It was good seeing you, Ralph. Really.”

Ralph looks up at him, a gleam of concern in his eyes. “You too, Booster.”

“I didn’t mean to, to dump all this on you. And I didn’t invite you out just to recruit you for the Conglomerate either, you know.”

“I know, Booster.” Ralph offers a gentle smile. “Thank you for the coffee.”

* * *

The door gives way and next thing Ted finds himself in the bedroom. Booster’s bedroom.

The air is stale in here as well, but the shuttered windows let in streams of the setting sun, falling on a gigantic bed. It’s unmade, and the bunched up blanket, the wrinkled sheets seems to Ted so... startlingly intimate. Booster slept here last night, warm skin against this soft cotton, mattress weighed down by a tall, tan body at rest.

Mechanically he reaches out to touch the pillow, still dimpled by a head resting on it, but stops himself.

_You’re a loser, Ted. A creep and a loser._

How many people must have shared this bed with Booster by now? Men and women intimately familiar with this room, with this bed, with Booster’s body. Ted’s a stranger to all of it.

How often does Booster ever think about _him_ , other than as that guy who was so self-conscious and awkward he even had problems taking his clothes off when they fooled around together? A little workplace experiment.

And here he stands, mooning over the fucking bed.

_Get a grip, Ted._

He can't handle his own emotional indecision. It's getting exhausting. Does he hate Booster, or bitterly adore him, brokenhearted over the end of -- What? What did they even have together? Does he mourn the loss of his friend, or the loss of his... lover? The word makes him grimace. Best not to think too much about that aspect of the past. 

Restlessly searching for something to distract himself, he sees the pile of clothes seemingly erupting out of Booster's dresser. To busy to fold his clothes too, it seems. He spots an oddly familiar heather-grey T-shirt, hanging over the front of one of the drawers. Sees the pale yellow smiley face print on it, and knows it's the one he lent Booster that time they got lost in the sewers together, Booster landing spread-eagle in a pool of rancid-smelling water, so foul he had to borrow the spare clothes Ted kept in the Bug. He stretched the fabric so much the print became permanently warped. Looked absolutely ridiculous in it too, but at least they didn't have to gag continuously from the smell.

Ted had never considered he'd kept it.

He startles at the sound of footsteps nearby. He’s not alone anymore.

God, this is it. What was that plan again?

* * *

Booster exits the lift, finding himself once more standing on the lushly carpeted floor outside his apartment. He sighs, rooting through his pocket for the keys.

_We all make do however we can._

That was Ted’s excuse when they created the resort, too. Extra income to do good with. After they’d be done splurging on a few luxuries for themselves, anyway. Get one of those high-quality CD players, a huge TV, maybe one of those Famicom gaming consoles from Japan Ted was always dreaming about. Ted could do with a new car that wasn’t falling apart, too.

Late nights laughing and imagining all the fun they could have with the extra money.

Booster glances down the corridor, at the marble columns, the soft carpets. Sure, he enjoys the high life too. He got himself that mansion when he got to this age, didn't he? A sports car. That was the life he immediately sought when the ads and sponsorship deals and investments started paying off.

But the never had those things before. After a lifetime of second-hand clothes and second-rate essentials, why shouldn’t he enjoy the finer things for a while? He appreciates them in a way Ted could probably never do. Booster has never felt he was owed those things. Can Ted say the same?

He wipes his face with a restless hand. Deep down he knows he’s being unfair. The more he thinks about it, the more he wants to paint Ted as this snobbish privileged asshole, when Ted always appreciated greasy fast food joints and stupid TV sitcoms with the best of them.

_Wait._

_That’s strange._

His door is unlocked. Was he that excited to meet with Ralph today, that he forgot?

No, he’s so certain he locked it. Hesitantly he pushes the door open. The lights are on. 

His suit is in there. His wrist blasters, his flight ring. Locked into a heavy trunk, but if someone knew what they were looking for they could --

He slips inside, his center of gravity low, his muscles tense. Nothing around to use as a weapon. He’ll just have to pray whoever was in here are gone, or they didn’t bring a gun. 

The living room. There’s someone in the living room. He sees a silhouette as he slowly moves forward. Not too tall, not too big. He could probably take them, if they don’t have a weapon. He could --

A strange, nasal noise escapes him. He stands up. “Vapor? What are you doing here?”

She’s sips her glass of wine, and smiles languidly at him from his couch. “Hello, Booster.”

He scans the room. “Where’s the rest of the team? Has something happened?”

“Nothing’s happened,” she giggles, standing up. So strange to hear her giggle. He never knew she was able to do that. Her black velvet dress catches the light from the kitchen as she rolls her pale shoulders back. “And this is just you and me.”

“I don’t understand,” Booster smiles, as she steps close to him, her eyes level with his shoulders.

“I just think there’s -- there’s too much bullshit,” Vapor murmurs, looking up at him with lidded eyes. “I thought we’d... skip the whole clichéd process and get to the point.”

There’s a strange little theory dancing in his mind, but he pushes it away because it’s... it's too ridiculous. “And what's the point?”

In one fluid movement she stands up on her tippy toes, wrapping her arm over his neck, and presses her lips to his.

He flinches back, chuckling awkwardly. “No, I -- I don’t think that’s the point at all.”

“I’m a pretty modern kind of girl, Booster,” she murmurs, her arm still wrapped around him. “I don't really care what happens after. I’m just so tired of us dancing around it, I figured we could skip ahead a few steps.”

“What steps? I didn’t even know we were on the stairs,” he babbles, lifting his hand to gently unwrap himself out of her embrace. “Vapor --”

She kisses him again, eliciting a strange little whine from him as he angles his head up, out of her reach.

“You can call me Carrie, you know,” she giggles and delivers a wet kiss to his neck before he finally manages to push her away. “Or if codenames is what gets you going --”

“Vapor -- _Carrie,”_ he says, clearing his throat. “I think you’re a little confused, and -- and a lot drunk,” he nods at the glass in her hand. “You’re a, a lovely lady but I’m not -- I’m not interested. I'm not, I’m sorry.”

She chuckles, confused. “You don’t need to act the shy innocent with me, Booster.”

“I’m not shy,” he breathes. “And I’m, I’m not innocent, trust me, I just --” He pulls his fingers through his hair. “I did not see this coming at all, and I’m not --”

“What do you mean?” she asks, frustration and confusion tinging her voice. “You’ve been flirting shamelessly with me for weeks.”

“I haven’t,” he protest. “Or -- maybe I have, but I didn't realize I --.”

“Everyone thinks we're already together,” she huffs. “I figured I had to be stupid not to see the signs, or -- act on them. Every magazine writes that we’re an item.”

“Yeah, well, the journos also think I’m addicted to peanut butter and that I got a secret butt lift in Mexico,” he replies, desperately. “You can’t believe anything in those mags.”

“So you’re serious?” she sighs. “The way you’ve been acting with me, and you still don’t want --” She spreads out her arms in defeat. “This?”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, sitting down on the couch, resting his chin in his hand. “Maybe if we’d met at some... other time in my life I’d be jumping at the opportunity, but...” He glances up at her. “I’m really sorry if I gave a different impression.”

She huffs, ungracefully dropping down on the other side of the couch. “You’ve been acting so _charming_ to me though.”

“I just wanted you to like me,” he murmurs, not looking at her. “You, you seemed so -- hostile in the beginning, and when you started being friendlier I just, I think I got a bit too excited.” He inhales deeply. “I’m sorry. I wanted you to like me.”

Not the first time he's struggled with the point where friendliness ends and flirting begins.

“Oh my God,” she groans softly, hiding her face in her hands.

“You okay?” he murmurs, glancing up at her.

“Sure, just another... massive social blunder by Carrie Donahue.” she shrugs. “I should be getting used to that by now.” 

“Listen, if -- if things had been different,” Booster offers. “You would have seduced the fuck out of me right then, you know. You’re _smooth.”_

She laughs thinly. “Good to know. Uh... Just -- can you do me a favor and completely forget about this?” She stands up, a little wobbly on her high heels. “Let’s just erase tonight. Please.”

He offers her a smile. “Sure, Vapor.” 

“Appreciate it. And uh, fuck.” She looks about the room. “Can you get my purse for me? I think I left it on your nightstand.”

“Sure.” He offers her another apologetic smile as he makes his way to the next room. Dark now the sun has set, his bed only illuminated by the warm light of his nightstand lamp.

“Don’t you dare look inside,” she shouts after him.

“Got it.” He crawls over the bed on his hands and knees, reaching for the little black purse slung on the nightstand, and as he grasps it his eyes light on an unfamiliar shape in the corner of his room, blue and still.

He falls back on his heels, kneeling on the mattress. _“Ted?!”_

* * *

Fuck.

_Fuck._

This is definitely not a good look. This is the worst look, from the worst plan Ted has had his entire life, and he took money from the Justice League to finance an island resort.

Ted tries to speak, but he doesn’t know where to start. All he can do is insistently shake his head at Booster, look at him with pleading eyes. _Whatever you think this is, it isn’t._

He sees the heavy rise and fall of Booster’s chest as Booster stares at him, not understanding. Then Ted sees him cover his face with his hands, shaking his head.

“I’m losing it. I’m definitely losing it.”

“Booster?” comes the call from the living room, that team mate of Booster’s who slipped in forty minutes ago, trapping Ted in this room with no way to shimmy along the outside ledge without passing the living room windows. “What’s going on in there? I told you not to look in my purse.”

Booster peeks through his fingers at him, blinking, before he twists, looking at the rest of the room. “Anyone else in here? Are the Teen Titans gonna pop out of my bathroom cabinet?”

“It’s just me, Booster,” Ted murmurs apologetically. “And... her.”

“Okay.” Booster sighs, resting his hands on the top of his thighs. “Okay. Fine. What the _fuck_ are you doing in my apartment?”

Ted sucks in air, trying to find the words. “I was just, I --”

“Booster, I swear to God --” The woman walks in, the skinny brunette from the Conglomerate. Vapor. Her dress so low-cut it’s obvious what was in the cards for the two of them tonight. “Oh.” She freezes at the sight of him.

“Sorry,” Ted murmurs, unsure where to begin. “I’ll just -- I’ll leave, and you can --” He clears his throat. “I’ll leave.”

“Beetle, why would--” Booster sputters, like he’s trying to say several things at the same time. “Are you trying to, to spy on me? Have you been doing this a lot?” He pulls both hands through his hair. “Jesus, why would you -- Why did you break into my apartment?!”

“I, I wasn’t spying on you,” Ted replies anxiously. “I just -- I wanted to talk to you.”

“So leave a fucking message at the front desk like a, a sane person!”

“I know, I’m so sorry.” How did he ever think this was going to work? In every outcome he imagined, he’d taken for granted that Booster would be alone in here. He hadn’t even considered that Booster’s love life obviously made that a very rare occurrence. “I didn’t mean to, to ruin your night, I just wanted to talk. I’ll leave, I’ll --” _God, Ted. You've really done it this time._ “I’ll leave you alone.” He starts inching towards the door when Booster speaks.

“No. No, no, no, _no,_ you don’t get to break in and, and hide in my bedroom and then just leave when you’re discovered.” Booster takes a deep breath, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, Ted.”

Ted stops, awkwardly staring at the floor, feeling the silence of the room weighing down on him. Another great plan by award-winning smart person Ted Kord.

“Look, I just want my purse,” Vapor mutters, pushing past him into the room, reaching towards Booster, who's still sitting on his heels in bed. “And I’ll, um, leave you to it.”

Booster makes a soft noise, like he just realized she's there, and hands her her purse. Ted hears her footsteps quickly traveling through the living room, into the hallway, until the door slams and everything is silent again.

Booster exhales deeply, shuffling to the edge of his bed where he swings his legs out from under him, sitting on the edge. He looks down at his hands, his shoulders rounded like they're weighed down by exhaustion and disbelief.

“Sorry for -- scaring her away,” Ted mutters awkwardly. “She seems lovely.”

“What did you want to say to me, Beetle?” Booster mutters without looking at him.

“Oh, I -- I meant to tell you...” Ted swallows. He’d prepared for this too, but now he doesn’t know what he’s meant to say. “That, that Scott is alright. That's all. He’s not dead, he’s -- he’s back.”

Booster snorts, looking up at him with... with so much exhaustion in his eyes. “I know.”

A soft noise escapes Ted. “You know.”

“Yeah,” Booster replies, frowning. “Ralph told me.”

“Oh,” Ted breathes, dizzy, something burning inside him.

Booster folds his hands, looking down at them, squeezing them together. “Anything else?”

_I miss you._

_Even now I miss you so much I feel like I’m going crazy._

“I’m happy for you.”

Booster looks up then, surprised, and even frowning, even this mad, the warm light of the nightstand lamp frames his face in such a horribly beautiful way. It’s not fair.

“I mean, with your team, your success, your --” Ted gestures vaguely to where Vapor stood a little while ago. “Your popularity.”

“That’s it?” Booster stands up, sighing. “You broke into my place to congratulate me?”

“I didn’t plan for it this way,” Ted squirms. “I just needed a few moments alone with you and... Suddenly _she_ was in here and you two were already at it and --”

“We weren’t _at_ anything!” Booster exclaims abruptly. “God, Ted, why do you have to invent all kinds of --”

“Fine, I don’t care!” Ted lies. “You do whatever you want to do, Booster. That’s what you usually do.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Booster snaps back, wiping his face with his hand. “I feel like you’re accusing me of something, but I don’t know what.”

Yes, this feels safer, this feels more familiar. Panicked, Ted reaches for the closest argument at hand. “I just think it’s a little rich that you’re the one who thinks _I’m_ the privileged snob when I’m not the one living at Ophelia Gardens with, with Egyptian sheets and fine art and, and, a penis sculpture in my living room.”

“I didn’t buy any of this!” Booster hisses. “I didn’t ask to live here, this was all Claire and her --”

“How does that make it different?” Ted exclaims, his voice rebounding off the walls. “You think I asked for the stuff my dad bought when I was eleven?”

“It’s different because Claire’s my employer! I _work_ for this!” Booster balls a corner of the sheets up in his fist. “I _earn_ this through my _work!”_

“Please,” Ted scoffs. “You’re just a puppet for your shady fucking sponsors.” He makes a face. “You’re team leader of a promotional stunt, Booster. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

“It just kills you to see me get somewhere, doesn’t it?” Booster sneers, meeting his gaze with fire in his eyes. “That I’m doing better than you.” 

Ted exclaims wordlessly. “You’re not doing better than me by any measure known to man!”

Booster gestures at the room. “I live here, don’t I? I got my own private driver. I got every large newspaper begging for an interview, I can go wherever I want, do --”

“Whoever you want,” Ted mutters, and then startles at his own interjection. He clears his throat. “Yeah, the moment you don’t scrape and bow to -- to LexCorp or Ferris or any of the other fatcats all of that will disappear. You know that.”

“Sounds odd coming from someone why used to _be_ one of those fatcats,” Booster mutters with a sneer.

“I was an inventor!” Ted hisses. “You get that? I _worked_ at K.O.R.D Industries.”

“Yeah, drove it into the fucking ground, remember?” Booster replies, turning his back to him. “Got plenty of second chances though, as son of the CEO.”

“Fine, we’ve already been over this,” Ted sighs. “It’s covered. I just came by to, to --”

“Spy on me in my bedroom.” Booster snorts, looking at him again. “What were you even hoping to see in here, Ted? Huh?”

“I came by to tell you Scott’s not dead, that’s all.” Ted crosses his arms, looking away. “And you already knew, so... I don’t know what I’m still doing here.”

“Me neither,” Booster mutters.

There’s a pause.

“So are you gonna leave the way you came in, or --?” Booster’s looking down, tensing his brow.

Ted sniffs. “I’ve got the Bug outside. I’ll just -- Get to the roof.” He swallows. “Is there a code or a lock or something to get up there?”

Booster snorts. “How would I know?”

“I just don’t want to trip any alarms.” Ted taps his foot, waiting for a better answer. When he doesn't get one he turns sighs pointedly. “Forget it, I’ll just climb out the window again. Same difference, I’ll --”

“I don’t need you scaling the outside wall of my building at night,” Booster interjects. “Christ, Ted. For someone who’s always worried what people might see or say you don’t seem too --”

“Oh, we’re gonna do that whole subject again too?” Ted exclaims, his heart rate somehow increasing yet again. “Some of us live in the the 20th Century, you know. We can’t all be shouting our sordid secrets from the rooftops in _this_ age, Booster.”

“What about us was so fucking sordid, Ted?” Booster looks at him, really looks at him, the dimmed light from the bedside lamp reflected in his eyes. “Why were you and me so much dirtier than what you and -- and Melody had?”

Ted jolts, the air knocked out of him. He frowns, seeing the anger and hurt on Booster’s face, and he can’t handle it.

He looks away.

“I didn’t come here to do a rerun of all our old fights,” Ted mutters. “Just -- just fucking write them down or something and then you can go over them as many times as you want. I have better things to do.”

Why did he think Scott being alive would change anything?

Why would it matter in the least when all of this began way before Scott -- or Scott’s placeholder -- died.

He sets his jaw, pushing past Booster, not bothering to look, refusing to appreciate even for a second the warmth of his body when their shoulders make contact, and he steps out of the apartment without another word.

**Author's Note:**

> Last chance to [VOTE](https://strawpoll.com/4xzwbygd) for what kind of silly shenanigans I should write for Booster and Ted once this arc is concluded!
> 
> I know what you're thinking, okay? Like "Oh, we're back where we've started, there's no end to this conflict." But me, I'm a "darkest just before dawn" kinda person, and MAYBE I needed to write a li'l chapter to give a brisk summary of the most pressing conflicts and the reasons why our intrepid heroes are so bad at communicating when they do try to talk about it. Just a little housekeeping before we resolve this jumble. 
> 
> Next chapter I PROMISE Ted and Booster will talk together again, but the setting will be very different.
> 
> Also if you squint it's almost like you can tell I love Ralph and Sue Dibney with all my heart.
> 
>  **[Songs:](https://open.spotify.com/user/tilly_stratford/playlist/4SqomvmhyncWPEAobYUZ88?si=DNXWufsLSs29KqRywW2U9A)**  
>  Tom's Diner - DNA and Suzanne Vega  
> You're always pulling me down - UB40  
> The king of wishful thinking - Go West


End file.
